


blue crosses

by knightargents



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Blanca is his English teacher, Blanca is not the abuser lol, Diary/Journal, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Gen, Investigations, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 05:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19244380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightargents/pseuds/knightargents
Summary: At the beginning of the year Mr. Varishkov had given his senior English class a simple assignment. Every day he expected one paragraph from each of his students.Whether he reads the entries or not doesn't matter, it seems, as nothing in Ash's life changes.





	1. Chapter 1

At first, Ash felt relief at the fact his English teacher had never actually read his daily journal entries. He was paranoid at first. He worried that CPS would be called, he wouldn't be believed and that everything would end up worse. (He's heard so, so, so many horror stories.) So each day for the first month he wrote mundane things about his day, turning his notebook in once every week on Friday and getting it back Monday, seeing a blue checkmark on every entry. He struggled to make it as bland as possible, paranoid his teacher could read between the lines.

 

_September 27th_

_Today was another boring day. At school they'll probably serve hamburgers and I'll probably get the second choice. The semester is starting to roll forward and soon all my notebooks will be splotchy with ink. I wonder if I'll fill a notebook front to back this year, although it's unlikely like every other year. At home it is the same at is has always been, I know what is expected of me there._

 

Five sentences make a paragraph. It’s what he's been taught his whole life. It's the bare minimum, the expectation to do daily to get his participation points and keep his grades up. He's not particularly keen on spilling his secrets on these pages so he keeps vague for the first month and a half. Until one day Bones mentions it.

 

The teacher passes back their notebooks, Ash opening it to see his marks. Bones look to him and smirks. "You know, she doesn't actually read these," he says. His lisp is slight in his words.

 

"Huh? What do you mean?"

 

Bones cracks a grin before opening his notebook and showing it to Ash.

 

_September 18_

_Today I went to the beach. You stopped reading so I'll write whatever the fuck I want lol. I didnt so shit but jerk off and watch jersey shore..._

 

_September 20_

_Math is really killing me and giving me a headache. A long time ago in a galaxy far far away..._

 

Ash flipped through the entries, shocked at the fact that he'd been struggling to hide his thoughts for over a month over almost nothing. The entries were strange to see to him. Bones had terrible penmanship and even then, he wrote nonsense. The first October entry wasn’t even words, just a bunch of nonsense written for five lines straight. He looked to Bones, an incredulous smile on his face.

 

"Easiest points ever. I'll probably get an A in this class for this shit." Bones says. Ash nods before handing back his notebook. He thinks the situation is a little funny.

 

The issue with that though, is that he cant stop thinking about these journals. Really, they took up so little of his thoughts before. Maybe a minute per day to think up whatever bullshit he'd write to get his points. But now that he knows nothing is actually read, he wonders what would happen if he just...wrote what he really _was_ thinking, what he really went through on a day to day basis. The idea won't leave him alone.

 

Later that Friday, he passes his journal to his classmate in front of him. The teacher collects them all at the front of the row and leaves them on their desk. He only halfway pays attention to the lesson that day, anxiety beginning to bounce around in his head.

 

That weekend is one of the longest he's ever experienced. He doesn't sleep well on Friday, mind racing at the possibility that Bones was lying, that the teacher might probably glosses over only Bones work but reads everyone else's. He doesn’t sleep well on Saturday either, although it is for utterly different reasons. But on Sunday he's so exhausted he passes out at 8 am, sleeping almost 11 hours straight.

 

Monday afternoon his notebook lands back on his desk. He tries not to let his hands shake as he opens up to the most recent entries.

 

_October 11th_

_I'm going to try something. The past few entries might have been boring to you. But I want to talk about myself deeper now. I wonder if you are curious. I wonder if you actually read these. If you do, can you draw a little smiley face on this page?_

 

He scans the pages for that week. Blue checkmarks only. Almost every entry is the same, asking for a smiley face. So he closes his notebook and puts it away. His leg bounces as he pays attention to the teacher.

 

Over the next few months, rather quickly it seems, his entries get longer. They grow from one paragraph to two, to three. At first he was paranoid, didn't want to bring attention to it. But at the end of every one, even in the middle occasionally and a few times in the beginning he'll ask for a smiley face. Blue checkmarks are all he receives as his words go unread and ignored. It's a freedom he's blessed to have as he begins to release all his feelings on paper.

 

_November 22nd_

_Today I wore a heavier jacket due to the cold front coming in. I know you stopped reading by now. Honestly I think you just count the number of periods we have and give us marks based off of that. Can I have a smiley face instead of a check? I know I'll get a check anyway. I wish my foster dad wouldn't touch me. I wish I never got put up for adoption. I wish he would drop dead and I would never feel his hands around me ever again. He doesn't come home until late at night but I can feel his presence in every inch of this house. I wish I could think. I wish I could breathe._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you liked it come talk to me on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/lovingtaeonmain) or my [tumblr](https://fullhalalalchemist.tumblr.com/) !!!!


	2. Chapter 2

 

Thanksgiving break has come and gone and Ash has painstakingly counted the days until he was back at school for several hours every day. The less he is at home the better. He looks around the class out of the corner of his eye. Some of them on their phones, one or two with headphones in while the rest take down notes or pretend to, at least. He wonders what their lives at home are like. If they're as terrifying as his-

He’s startled by Mr. Varishkov’s quick clapping, his thoughts immediately cutting off. A small part of him is happy. No use spiraling in the middle of class.

“Alright class, now that we’ve finished Frankenstein, we’re going to move onto the last assignment of the semester. We have a few weeks until winter break, so what I want us to do is two things. First, keep writing your daily journal entries. Second, we’re going to move into the five page analysis I want you all to do - stop groaning. It’s going to - I said stop groaning - focus on the themes we discussed in the novel, such as the concept of the Self, fear, and personal expectations. Now,” and here the teacher paused, looking at the broken clock on the wall behind him “We have at least 20 minutes before class lets out for lunch so I want you to take out your journals and write a small reflective essay.”

"But Mr.Varishkov, what are we supposed to write about for 20 minutes?" Whines a classmate. Ash doesn’t know who, he doesn’t care. He already has his pen in his hand, itching to scratch the screams in his head on paper.

"I want you to write a reflective essay, I just said. Or at least start. I want you to write about what defines the Self. Your self."

 

_  
November 28th_

_~~What defines me is~~ _

_~~I believe~~ _

 

  
Ash looked around the room. He wasn't the only one not writing, several others deep in thought. What defined him? What powered him through the day? What explained his existence?

He had no answer to that. And he didn’t know what scared him more, the fact that he didn’t or the fact that in the back of his mind he knew he never had an answer to anything.

He was startled out of his daze when the bell rung for lunch twenty minutes later. As he looked down into his notebook he found nothing but crossed out thoughts half formed. Ash sighed, putting his stuff away before heading to lunch.

In line he kept thinking about the question. The concept of the Self, as his teacher described it, was a simple one. And yet here he was struggling over it. He wonders if Mr.Varishkov intended for any of his students to have an existential crisis, if he was excited about their deep thoughts. He wouldn't get much from Ash, this time. He knows with no doubt some would write about their future goals and aspirations, maybe about their young life's history. But he had nothing noteworthy to say. He grew up in his foster father's house, and he would die there. That’s his story. That’s all he’ll ever amount to. The idea of it makes his hands twitch, makes him want to bash his head against the wall and scream from the top of his lungs. Maybe everyone would turn and hear him and help him, or maybe they'd look at him like the freak he knows he is-

A hand wraps itself around his neck, choking him, shoving him down, stripping his clothes-

"..for lunch today? Ash? Hellloooooo? Bro, you are really out of it today."

Ash shoves the hand off. "Don’t sneak up on me like that Shorter. You scared the fuck outta me," he mumbles. He tries to shake off the sudden ugly anxiety that clawed it’s way out from deep in his chest.

"Damn, sorry bro. But seriously what’s for lunch cuz your man...He is starving on this fine day."

"Food."

At that Shorter laughs loudly. "Man, you’re a riot."

Ash rolls his eyes, tension quickly easing out of him. Really, only Shorter could let him feel this calm this quickly. Ash isn't surprised at that fact, Shorter's been one of his closest friends at this school since ninth grade.

They move up the line, grab their lunches, and find their way to a spot at their table. The rest of their little group is there already, loud and rambunctious.

Alex, sitting a seat down from across Ash, has been talking about his plans for after school. The other boys chewing on their food and listening.

Suddenly Alex turns to him. “Ash, are you gonna come over this weekend?” he asks, wiping ketchup off his face with his finger. He licks it up and picks up another fry, dipping it in while looking at Ash expectantly.

Ash pauses, spork making small, slow shapes into his mashed potatoes. His heart lurches for a split-second. He wants nothing more than that, actually. An entire weekend with just his friends, free from stress and fear and free from his foster father's hands-

But he knows he can’t. He knows he really has little choice in the matter. He has to be home every weekend.

"No,” the spork tears into the potatoes, puncturing a hole right in the middle. Ash can almost feel Alex and the other's disappointment in the air. “Maybe next time,” he says, not exactly making eye contact with anyone.

“Oh come on! You never wanna hang!"

“I can't Alex. I gotta be home.”

Alex looks down at his food again at that. Ash knows he suspects something, and it makes his skin itch. “Man, when's your old man gonna loosen up?" He says jokingly, trying to ease out the slight tension. Ash smiles at that but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

 

 

* * *

  
  
While everyone was at Alex's house, Ash was stuck here. With _him_. Alone.

A rough hand comes to caress his face. "How has school today, child?" Ash doesn't shiver anymore. He only cries when Dino leaves, now.

 

* * *

 

 

 

  
He gets out of the shower, freshly washed and scrubbed from all sin. Dino's downstairs, doing whatever. Now is his only opportunity. He digs his notebook fresh out from his backpack in its hidden compartment. If one of the servants ever found out about it...he shivers thinking about what might come of that. He sits at his desk, water dripping down his back into his robe from his hair.

He grabs a pen and quickly writes down his assignment before he loses his train of thought.

  
_Fear defines me. Every waking moment I have to the second I knock out every night it is fear that runs through my body. Sometimes I wonder if I even have organs or a heart or blood pumping in nonexistent veins until I can hear my heartbeat echo loudly in the silence of my room. Until I am cut open again and again and bleed onto my mattress again and again. Fear defines me. I don’t know what Aslan wants in his life. I don’t know what his goals are, or what his beliefs are, or what he likes or dislikes in people or books or movies. Actually I do know. He likes warmth. He likes gentleness. He likes his friends. But he's afraid of even that because it can so easily shatter. He is afraid of everything, because he is nothing._  
_I want to live a life without fear. I want to wake up every day knowing I'm not gonna be touched or ripped apart or spit on by my dad. I want to go to sleep knowing no one is gonna walk into my room when the lights are off and crawl in the mattress with me and hurt me. I want to never feel hands on my body ever again. I want to never feel like I'm disgusting ever again. I want to hang out with my friends. Is that so much? I want to go to the movies after school or to the park without worrying about getting back home on time. I want one day where the thought of 'home' doesn’t even cross my mind once. Actually I want an entire lifetime of that, but I don’t think I am allowed that or will ever have that. Is it so much to ask for that? Is it so much to ask to hang out with my friends without worrying about coming home late and being beat and raped? Is it so much to ask to not be looked at like I’m an object? Is it so much to ask for a day I can laugh and smile without feeling like I can't breath? Because I can't. I feel like I am choking on fear with every step I take. I can't breathe._  
_Give me a smiley face, please. I need to know whether you read these or not. Please._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think plsss thank you ^^


	3. Chapter 3

_Have you heard the story of the coyote and the fawn?_

 

-

 

Mr. Varishkov’s booming voice bounces off the walls of the classroom and surrounds the students. Ash is scribbling circles into the sides of his lined paper while Bones is texting his group chat under the desk. Ash can’t make out what’s being said from the all the Spanish, but he does see Alex’s number pop up again and again.

“…I know you’ve all worked long and hard at these stories over the past few months, and I will be collecting your final draft at the end of next week and reading them all,” Mr. Varishkov explains at the front of the class. He makes his way down the row to pick up their journals once again.

Bones elbows his side, turns to him briefly and snickers. Ash gives a weak half-smile back.

He presses his pen into the lined paper harder. He has a childish desire to cover the entire paper in black empty squares on top of one another until they entire thing is a mess of lines and ink. Both boys know their teacher doesn’t actually read anything, but secretly Ash is hoping that he actually does for their short stories. It’s the first time he’s ever wanted his work read. He’s desperate for any sort of acknowledgment.

 

-

 

_The coyote and the fawn are a tragic story, a sad story, a typical story. Everyone feels sad for the little fawn who was tricked by the coyote, but at the end of the day, life moves on. Animals easily forget, after all._

_The fawn was a scared little thing. Seasons ago, its mother was shot down by a hunter after the father abandoned them. The bullet left her open wound gushing blood into the white of the winter snow._

_And so, the fawn was put under protection of it's bigger brother, who's antlers were starting to grow larger and larger with each passing month._

_Unfortunately, the hunter came back, and once again blood turned the white snow red._

 

-

 

The glint from his desk lamp reflects on the empty notebook paper in front of him. The lines taunt him. Endless blue lines on white paper staring at him as if his words would ever have any affect other than to scare him.

It's past 1:00 a.m., and Ash has been struggling with writing his short story for two weeks now. It's due in a few weeks, after he comes off of winter break. It's meant to start them off in their creative writing unit, but Ash has no mental energy nor creativity to think of a story. In fact, every time he picks up a pen...

He looks to the side of his desk at his notebook. His eyes narrow as he stares at it, and suddenly he's more exhausted than he's been for the past few hours now. They haven't needed to write journal entries for the entire month, instead being made to focus on the short prose. In those short few weeks he doesn't know what happened or why, but suddenly everytime he glances at or even thinks about the notebook he's hit with a bout of nausea and bone-chilling anxiety. _The notebook is a relief_ , he keeps telling himself. _It helps you get your feelings out. It’s a relief, it’s a relief, it’s a relief_. But it isn't, it really isn’t.

Suddenly he's filled with anger. At the notebook, at the words, at Dino for doing this to him, at himself for just taking it. He can't even write a stupid short story, can't even come up with an idea, nonetheless.

He's been like this now, for a while. His sudden mood flashes either last a few days or they flare out after a few minutes, leaving him numb. But his current anger at eveything lasts long enough for him to suddenly grab the notebook and want to rip it up.

Uh.

That thought scares him. Suddenly he's afraid again, anger seeping out of him like a popped balloon.

He needs that notebook. It contains...well, everything. If he ever lost it, or someone ever picked it up… The thought leaves him so frightened he wants to curl up and die at it. Or worse, if Dino ever got his hands on it…

God, his mind is whirling in fifty different directions. He hasn’t been able to focus on anything for a while now. His emotions too strong to form logical thoughts. It’s embarrassing, really. He hasn’t felt this lost since he started middle school.

 

-

 

_The little fawn was all alone now. No father, no mother, no brother. The other forest creatures felt sad over the little fawn and tried to help it, tried to warn it of the dangers of the outside world, but the fawn was too young to understand._

_The little fawn wanted nothing more than companionship, than to lay under the soft fur of its mother or brother. Sometimes, the little fawn would nest with the cubs, but the mother bear would ignore it, caring only for her own children. Once or twice, the little fawn nested with the rabbits, but there were too many of them, and the fawn ended up being an extra mouth to feed. That became the little fawn's life - walking from family to family, wishing someone would care for it, feed it, give it some warmth and love._

_But as the saying goes, one should be careful what they wish for._

 

-

 

Lunch is quickly beginning to be the least favorite period of Ash’s day. Daily, he’s forced to sit and eat and talk and laugh and pretend everything is painfully normal. It hurts. He doesn’t know why it hurts now, it never used to hurt like this. This was the time of day he looked forward to everyday. Ash used to want nothing more than to feel like a normal person and have this set hour to be with his friends unapologetically. Now? Now he hates hearing about what they do outside of school.

It’s the reason he doesn’t look at Shorter when he sits down with his tray of food. Ash knows that if he makes eye contact, he won’t be able to hide his emotions. They’ve been best friends for years, and Ash has felt like he’s been teetering on the edge for a while now. He can’t even remember the last time he had a full night’s rest. Maybe two weeks ago…three? It makes his emotions run wild.

“What’s wrong, Ash?” The question’s asked as soon as Ash picks up the plastic spork. The question sends his mind into overdrive. His heart clenches. Why is he so on edge? He can already feel his breath coming heavier.

“Nothing.”

“Ash don’t bullshit me. I can, like, smell your anxiety off of you,” Shorter puts his milk carton down and fully turns to him. “Come on bro, you can talk to me. No one’s here yet. They’re all in detention for the shit they pulled in the bathroom.”

Ash huffs angrily. The more Shorter mentions his mental state the more it gets him worked up. “I said I’m fine. Just drop it.”

_“Ash.”_

“Drop it.” His voice is like ice. What’s wrong with him? Well, he knows what’s wrong with him. He’s so damn aware of what’s wrong with him, in fact. It’s that stupid fucking journal’s fault.

He can tell Shorter’s trying not to appear phased by his sudden attitude. “Fine, alright. But you know I’m here for you anyway so just hit me up when you wanna talk- “

Ash stands up before Shorter finishes his sentence, grabs his untouched lunch and makes his way to the garbage can. He practically slams it in, grabbing the attention of a few onlookers. He doesn’t want them to look at him. He doesn’t want anyone to look at him. He hopes Shorter didn’t notice his eyes blinking his unspilled tears rapidly away. What the _fuck_ was wrong with him? Why was he so reactive? He’s never been this emotional at school. Shorter was just being nice but he can’t. He really can’t deal with it right now. Or ever. At all. He deserves it if Shorter never spoke to him again for being like this, from how stupid he’s acting.

His entire body is betraying him. His head is running a million miles a minute as he stalks down the hall, toward a quiet abandoned room so he can practice some breathing exercises without people looking at him strangely. He feels like he’s going to throw up. God, when was the last time he slept over five hours? He has no idea why he’s suddenly feeling this way. He’s been living under Dino’s roof for years now. It’s like he’s a child again, faced with all this raw anger and fear.

 

-

 

_At some point in the fawn’s life, it encountered a coyote. Now, the fawn had heard tales from the other creatures. How the coyotes had eaten a snake from the family in the bushes, how the coyotes tried to take the runt of the rabbit litter three seasons ago, but they had escaped in time, although now they were forever crippled because their back leg was chewed off. Many, many tales._

_While the young fawn was intelligent, it was also incredibly lonely and naive. The coyote must have sensed this, for it invited the fawn into its home._

_“My, little fawn. Where are your parents?” the coyote asked from behind a tree. In the shadows, it’s yellow eyes were bright._

_The fawn stood in the center of a clear field. Its brown fur coat was turned golden under the sunlight. The fawn, ever an innocent soul, answered simply. “I do not have any, Mr. Coyote. I am all alone.”_

_“Do you not have anywhere to go?”_

_“No, Mr. Coyote, I do not.”_

_“My my my,” said the Coyote in his deep voice. “What a poor lonely child. Come, I can look after you.”_

_The fawn hesitated. “Mr. Coyote, I don’t know you like that.”_

_“Nonsense,” came the reply. “Why would I try to bring a fawn into my abode if not to…care for it?_

_The fawn decided the logic was sound in its small infantile brain. While many of the adult creatures had neglected it in its time of need, surely the coyote would not. And so, the fawn went home with the coyote._

 

-

 

Ash shuts the door behind him with a soft click. He wants to hurry upstairs before he’s seen. As he makes his way down the corridor, a figure stumbles into the hallway.

Dino stands near the entrance of his room. He sways there. Ash’s back straightens on instinct as Dino slowly walks up to him. He forces his breath to be normal.

The man stands before him, robe open and exposing his chest and gut. He smells too heavily of alcohol. He’s not going to remember anything that happens today, Ash already knows. The thought disgusts him.

Dino’s hand comes up to brush gently against his face, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. In a soft but stern voice he asks Ash, “Where were you all this time, boy?”

Ash can tell the man is mad. The touch against his cheek sends chills down his spine. “I was in detention because of my...my friends.” He swallows thickly as he whispers the last part, afraid of Dino’s reaction.

Dino clicks his tongue. “Have I not told you to stop hanging around those troublemakers?” The man takes a strand of his hair and rubs it between his fingers. He leans into Ash’s face, the sour smell of alcohol overflooding Ash’s senses. “You know those men don’t have good intentions toward a pretty boy like you…I don’t want them corrupting you.”

Ash tilts his head towards the ground, eyes shut. “Yes, papa…”

“Good.” He brushes his hand against Ash’s shoulder as he walks past him and downstairs into the living room.

Later that night, Ash muffles his sobs into his hand. His other hand covers his face with a pillow to block out the moonlight coming in from the window. Dino never came up after that small confrontation in the corridor, leaving him alone for the rest of the night. But his presence lingers everywhere on Ash regardless.

 

-

 

_At first the coyote was kind to the little fawn. For the first time in a long time, the fawn had a full stomach before going to bed, a safe place to sleep, and the comfort of an adult’s fur keeping it warm at night._

_The season changed, and with it, so did the circumstances._

 

-

 

Alex’s walks into his bedroom after he brushes his teeth and sees his phone screen turn on. A quick glance at it shows him it was from Shorter.

> **shorter w.**  
>  Hey

He lifts his covers and makes himself comfortable before he responds.

> **me**  
>  Hey. What’s up.
> 
> **shorter w.**  
>  I gotta talk to u about something important
> 
> **me**  
>  Shit man what’s wrong.
> 
> **shorter w.**  
>  Its Ash
> 
> **me**  
>  :(.  
>  I know.
> 
> **shorter w.**  
>  Like…does he think we dont notice ?
> 
> **me**  
>  IDK man he’s kind of always been like that since I knew him. Shit’s bad.
> 
> **shorter w.**  
>  I fuckin know
> 
> **me**  
>  Like I haven’t seen him this down since 6th grade I’m lowkey scared.
> 
> **shorter w.**  
>  Fuck that bro Im highkey scared
> 
> **me**  
>  Yeah  
>  I fucking hate his foster dad
> 
> **shorter w.**  
>  Bro we all fucking hate his dad .
> 
> **me**  
>  No man like I really hate that guy. I’ve only seen him a few times but he’s so unnerving. Like Ash never told me but IDK if he thinks we’re dumb but we can all tell he’s hitting him.
> 
> **shorter w.**  
>  I know like its so fucking obvious idk if the teachers r ignorant or we can just tell cuz were his best friends
> 
> **me**  
>  IDK man I hate thinking about it. Ash was okay for a long while but he’s been like IDK different since a few months. I think his dad is hitting him again.
> 
> **shorter w.**  
>  Fuck  
>  FUCK !!!!!  
>  I know bro its so fucked up like he wont stay at my house or anything everytime I ask him
> 
> **me**  
>  I’m not surprised.  
>  Like his foster dad never lets him do anything.  
>  I been tryin to get him to stay over since we were like 11 or 12.
> 
> **shorter w.**  
>  Like I dont wanna call CPS but Nadia thinks I should but idk I dont want him to hate me :/
> 
> **me**  
>  Bro.  
>  I know.  
>  I tried to tell him to call CPS in like 7th grade when he would show up with bruises but IDK if he ever did :(.
> 
> **shorter w.**  
>  Man this whole thing is so fucked up I wish he would just tell us and let us help him
> 
> **me**  
>  God I know.

 

 

-

 

_It began late in the afternoon one day._

_“Mr. Coyote, why do you lick my head before going to bed every night?”_

_The coyote stiffened from its standing above the fawn. “Why little one, it is customary for an adult in my position to do that to little fawns like you.”_

_“But Mr. Coyote, you are the first animal to lick my head. I have never even heard of this before”_

_“Oh little one, I can assure you that every adult in this forest does that to their young ones. It is usually a...private affair, so no one talks about it,” the coyote lied to the fawn simply, hoping the child wouldn’t notice the erratic beating of its heart. “And you shouldn’t either, lest we disrupt the rest of the forest animals with silly questions.”_

_“Oh, alright Mr. Coyote.”_

 

-

 

The relief Ash felt at the beginning of October when he found out Mr. Varishkov didn’t actually read his entries is all but gone now.

He thought the journal would help him sort out his thoughts and emotions, but he’s found the longer he keeps working on the year-long project, the more muddled they get. He used to be sharper than this, used to be tougher than this. Once upon a time he thought he knew himself very well, but the journal changed a lot of things.

The scariest thought to him is he can’t tell if the abuse he’s facing at home is getting worse or not. A part of him, the rational logical part, knows that he’s just desperate for help now because the journal made him realize he can’t keep living like this. He felt afraid all those years ago when Dino first touched him and he feels afraid again now. In between that time, he doesn’t know if he’s felt anything other than fear. Was he also always this angry? Was he always this exhausted? Most days now he forces himself out of bed. Most mornings he barely swallows down a piece of toast and some water before he’s out the door. He’s tired, he’s so so so tired.

Does anyone notice? He wants them to notice. Isn’t that why he writes so much in his journal anyway?

Actually, maybe he doesn’t want anyone to know. Yeah, he’d rather stay invisible. It would be better to disappear into thin air than have anyone notice anything is off about him ever. That’s how he wants to exist again. He liked it better when he wasn’t thinking about his home situation at all and repressing his emotions.

He pauses.

It’s the journal.

It’s the stupid journal’s fault, he realizes with a rush. Mr. Varishkov asked them to spill their minds into them and Ash has never been able to stop. His thoughts are spilling everywhere into every aspect of his life. If his head was a glass jar then it shattered the moment he believed he was “free”.

 

-

 

_The little fawn was tired, so very exhausted. As the fawn grew more and more into a yearling, the coyote who took it into his care became more and more insatiable._

_Now the yearling had a group of forest animals that one could say were its friends. These friends were everything to the yearling. They were its comfort, it's brothers in the forest. They were also observant._

_"Why would an old coyote take care of a young fawn?" asked the young hare. "They eat deer. Everyone knows this."_

_Upon hearing that the yearling froze. Eat...? Suddenly, all the young licks the coyote gave it in its youth jumped to the forefront of its mind._

_"But...the coyote would never eat me. He takes care of me, has been better to me than any other creature here. Why, I must have done something to make him think I am delicious."_

_The young hare looked at the yearling with concern. "I think you should run away. That coyote obviously does not have good intentions towards you."_

 

-

 

Alex finds Ash sitting alone behind the wall during lunch. His lunch – if you could call it that – consists of a single roll of bread and a juice box left unopened that he’s staring at. Alex rubs his hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. It’s like he’s traveled five years in the past.

“Hey man, look.” Alex’s light accent comes through.

Ash sighs impatiently. “What is it?”

“Woah, hold on. What’s with the attitude?”

“I don’t _have_ -“

“You know you’re like really easy for me to read, right?”

Ash looks away, shaking his head slightly. He clenches the straw in his hand, the plastic crinkling quietly. Alex nudges him as he sits down next to him. They’re completely hidden from the rest of the students at lunch. Their conversation isn’t going to get overheard, anyway. “It’s nothing, really.” Ash never looks at him.

Alex pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms loosely around them. “Is it your foster dad?”

Suddenly Ash stabs the straw through his juice. He doesn’t take a sip, just looks at it intensely. If he looks away or looks at Alex he’s afraid the boy will read right through him. He’s too much of an open book to him.

Alex already knows it’s his foster dad.

“Ash, if…Why don’t you stay over tonight?”

Ash takes a deep breath through his nose before nearly snarling, “I can’t, Alex. Okay? I can’t and you know that. I, _fuck_.” His hand quickly reaches up to cover his eyes as he blinks away his tears. He really hopes Alex ignores his voice sounding watery and heavier.

 

-

 

_The forest passed the buck's eyes in a whirl of green. Faster and faster did its strong legs take it, further and further did it run. The buck's heart was pounding, it's body trembling as it ran and ran and ran, hoping and praying it would escape the-_

_A howl made the air stir. Behind it, the buck could hear the fast running of the coyote’s. If it didn't manage to escape now, if it didn't manage to get help from the other forest creatures, it would be killed._

_The thought made the buck's body tremble more in fear. Suddenly it remembers its naivety in its youth, thinking how the coyote's intentions towards it was out of good will. But there is no doubt now, after many seasons of experience living with the feral beast that they were anything but pure._

_The buck yelped when it nearly tripped over a branch, and it heard the pound of the coyote's feet against the ground as it ran closer and closer and closer to the buck but the buck couldn't give up now it couldn't hold back and stay and get eaten and the clearing was right there and it was almost free so close to being free it was **almost free…**_

 

-

 

“Please read my notebook early.”

“Do you need it back, or?”

“Um, yes.”

“Well my policy is equal treatment; you’d have to wait until Monday.” Monday is too late. Monday means Saturday and Sunday alone. Again. With Dino. Monday means over 48 hours in that house. Monday means sore thighs and a sore back and a sore throat. Monday means-

“Please, Mr. Varishkov.”

“I’m sorry, Ash. But if I read everyone’s journals when they’d want me to, I’d never get any other work done. You can have it back Monday like everyone else.”

Ash swallows thickly. Mr. Varishkov looks at him expectantly. Or, no, more like Ash should know better. As if he was a child who has to be told gently. Would it kill him to just read the stupid fucking entry? Instead of saying anything else, Ash nods. His hand is on top of his journal on Sergei’s desk. He slides it off and tries to stop his hands from fidgeting.

He’s left with no choice but to wait. The week passes by quickly. The weekend excruciatingly slow for many reasons. But Monday comes and Ash’s notebook lands on his desk once again. He stares at it, suddenly nauseous. He slides it under his binder and waits until it’s lunch time to check. If he sees no indication that his teacher actually read it this time, he really thinks he’s going to explode.

The bell rings, class ends, and everyone piles into the cafeteria while Ash walks into an abandoned hallway. He stands there holding it with a vice-like grip. There’s nothing for pages except the blue marks. No comments, no ‘see me after class’, no evidence that his teacher even glanced at it. It makes him want to run out of the school and stand in the middle of the street, waiting for an 18-wheeler to drive through him. He nearly screams. Ash slams the notebook into a garbage can and stomps down the hall. Is that it? Is no one ever going to listen to him? Is no one ever going to help him?

He hates that stupid journal. He wishes he never was given the assignment in the beginning of the year. His life was terrible but at least he didn’t have to deal with these emotions; the guilt, the anger, the fear, the hope…God, that was the worst one.

Ash doesn’t even know where he’s stalking off to. He stops at the end of the hallway, though. He doesn’t know why he stopped, but deep down he knows why. He glances over his shoulder at the garbage can. It stands innocently but…people dig through them, right? Or a janitor could notice his name and glance through it before handing it back in, right? What if another student does it instead? Or worse, the principal? Would they call CPS? The FBI? Would they eventually catch Dino? His harsh breathing slows down, body growing instantly cold. The idea of someone else even knowing his situation makes him run back and grab his notebook out of the garbage can.

He’s mad as he speed walks down the hallway to his locker. Didn’t he want that? Didn’t he want someone to be a witness to what he’s going through? Didn’t he WANT Mr. Varishkov to read his diary entries? He’s afraid now of the answer. There are many things that he didn’t want or ask for, but the one time he does it doesn’t work out for him.

At the end of the day, it’s a small school and words spread fast. He doesn’t want to be exposed to anybody, doesn’t want anyone else other than who he picked to read his entries. Inside hold his worst secrets. His life and soul are in that notebook and the idea of a stranger reading that and judging him…it’s not a welcome thought.

Ash opens his locker and carefully tucks the notebook into his backpack. It moves his backpack slightly and he can see his face reflected in his locker mirror. Ash doesn’t even recognize himself. He never realized he genuinely looks like shit. He shouldn’t be surprised, considering his worsening mental state and sleep schedule, but he is. Heavy eyebags, slightly greasy hair, and a hickey showing from where his loose turtleneck slid down.

What is he doing with his life?

 

-

 

_…the buck trips…_

 

-

 

Ash’s heart pounds in his chest as he opens Mr. Varishkov’s classroom door. Earlier that day they were handed back their graded copies of their short stories. Written at the top was a simple ‘See me after class’ circled in red. He never bothered to go to lunch, just came straight here from his locker because this was it. Finally, this was it.

“Ah, Ash!” The man behind the desk looks up as he hears the door open. The boy in question looks at him with his piercing eyes, strangely serious.

Ash comes forward and stands in front of his teacher’s desk. He’s gripping the stapled copy in his hand, heart pounding with hope. “You wanted to see me about my story, sir?”

“Yes, yes I did. Your story,” he clasps his hands in front of his face, which turns serious “Was slightly disturbing to read. I wouldn’t have imagined something like that to come from you.”

Ash smiles wide at that. He feels his entire body soar, his shoulders feel lighter than they have in months. Suddenly he can breathe slightly easier.

Sergei continues, “It was very compelling. I felt like I was sucked into it.” He took a paper out of his folder and placed it on the desk, sliding it towards Ash. “That’s why I want you to submit it to the library’s writing contest. It’s one of the best pieces of fiction to come out of this classroom.”

The blonde is slightly confused. “You called me to tell me to submit my story to the...library, sir…?”

His teacher gives him a look that simply says ‘yes, there’s no other reason for you here’. “I mean, unless there was something else you wanted to bring to my attention, then yes.”

Ash hesitates before answering. Maybe his teacher wants him to say what they’re both thinking, that the story is actually about him and Dino. Is he alluding to the fact that the library has connections to social workers there? “Is there anything else you thought of my work?”

“Hmm,” Sergei starts. “Well, like I said, it was one of the better pieces of fiction that I read from this class. Granted, you’re not the only one who took a story-telling format to describe your take on the topic, but the wolf representing adulthood and the deer representing childhood was a unique spin on it. Plus, not many boys your age write using animals. I did think the violence added a nice twist to the ending. Overall I’d say I enjoyed it.”

Ash stares at the flyer that was put on the desk. It was a cheesy graphic design with ‘Fiction Writing Awards’ printed at the top. There was a $50 gift card awarded to the winner from Starbucks. The light and airy feeling he felt moments ago had all but disappeared.

“It’s a wonderfully detailed piece of fiction, Ash. The pain almost radiates off of them. You should think about going into writing.”

Ash fidgets with his fingers, scratching at his palm. He can feel his bruises pulsing under his turtleneck and jeans. “Yeah, fiction.” He wordlessly takes the flyer, nodding at his teacher before heading out the classroom. “Thank you, sir.” His voice sounds dead to him.

“Seriously, Ash. Think about it! It’s a good opportunity to get your ideas out there and have your voice heard!” It’s the last Ash hears before he closes the door behind him, walking slowly down the hallway.

There’s no one in the bathroom to see him hysterically rip up the flyer and essay before throwing them in the garbage. He presses cold water into this face, hoping it will make the redness go down. It’s good that no one was here to witness him cry pathetically.

How could he be so stupid? Mr. Varishkov never cared enough to read through his ongoing crisis in his daily journal entries, how could he expect him to see anything deeper with the story? He thought he made it very obvious, too. He looks up to the mirror and fixes his appearance. “Is that all I’m fucking worth? A fucking coffee gift card?” Ash asks his reflection.

No one, no matter how hard he tries, is going to help him.

 

-

 

_The coyote licks his paws, the moonlight reflecting on his claws as he gets as much of the blood out as he can. He yawns, satisfied with his dinner as he curls up and rests in his den. He spits out the bone he was chewing before he rests his head against his arms and falls into a deep sleep, his bully warm and full._

_Behind him, the ripped open carcass of the buck lies motionless. Red paints the mussed grass._

 

-

 

Ash has only been late getting home from school once before. He was always told to never be late, to be home by 3:30 p.m. at the latest. He intimately knows Dino’s punishments and does his best to avoid them. There was a lockdown during a drug raid right during their last period - some student had snitched that someone brought in marijuana. Instead of dealing with it in a calm manner, the principal had called in the local police who showed up armed and with detection dogs, as if the school was in the middle of a war zone rather than a city in the United States. Regardless, they kept the school on lockdown for over an hour and a half. Parents were pissed in the parking lot, and the office phone lines kept ringing for another two hours after they were all allowed to go home. Ash had walked slowly to the park that was behind the school by a block. There was a small section of forest where he decided to go and sit in, trying to calm his racing heart. Anxiety had threatened to swallow him up as he rocked back and forth on the ground, hugging his backpack close to his chest. He didn’t want to go home and face whatever the consequence was for being late. He sat in that small section trying not to throw up his lunch.

Very briefly he had considered running away. His mind wasn’t thinking rationally anyway at that point, body set on course for a full-blown panic attack. But even then, his logic told him it would be a worse idea. He had no doubt Dino would report him missing. And anyway, he had no money and nowhere to go where he could be unrecognizable. Dino wouldn’t rest until he had Ash back under him both figuratively and literally.

He doesn’t remember what was going through his mind when he found the strength to stand up and walk home. All he remembers is standing at the front door being more terrified than he’d ever been in his life. And yet Dino treated him as if he did nothing wrong. In fact, he was cordial. It was as if years of threats seemingly disappeared.

Ash should have known better than to let his guard down.

He’s never been allowed to keep his door closed, so when Dino barged into his room later that night it was easy access to Ash. “Papa? What-” Ash didn’t have time to move away from his desk before Dino grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him to the ground, kicking him several times in the stomach and legs. Ash instantly moved his arms to cover his head, letting out a choked scream as the man above him continued to pummel him.

“Do you think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know what you’ve been out doing?” Dino’s loud anger bellowed in his room as he yanked Ash up by the hair. He stormed out of the room and down the stairs, dragging a stumbling Ash with him.

“Papa please, please stop I didn’t mean it, I didn’t-”

Dino yanked his hair harder and Ash stumbled after him down the stairs, almost tripping down on each step. He could feel his scalp burn from the tight grip Dino had on him and it made his eyes water.

Dino marched him to the back of the kitchen and slammed open the back door leading to the backyard. He pushed Ash out the door and onto the grass outside. Ash tried to stand up, but he couldn’t catch his breath and his legs ached. The moonlight illuminated Dino’s huge figure in front of him. The neighbors wouldn’t be able to see anything going on.

“Get up. Now.”

Ash forced himself up and stood on his shaking legs. His breaths came in short pants. He didn’t know what Dino was going to do out here. They’ve never done anything outside the house.

But Dino shoved him backwards, taunting him with every push. He had power behind his arms, and Ash was too terrified of the repercussions if he fought back and defended himself.

“Do you take me for a fool, boy?” _Shove._ “Do you think I’m an idiot?” _Shove._ “Answer me!” The final shove was strong enough that Ash fell backwards. He stuck his arms out at the last minute to cushion his fall, but pain shot up his body as he fell to his side.

“I... No!” It was the wrong answer. Ash knew. Anything was the wrong answer. Nothing he could say would calm Dino down when he was like this.

The man above him snarled before he gripped him by the forearm tightly and yanked him up. He slammed Ash into the shed behind him. His head reeled from snapping back against the metal.

“P-papa please I didn’t-” Dino backhanded him, the slap echoing in the night as Ash nearly fell again. He tried to move away but Dino grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shoved him into the shed. The impact finally pushed him to let his tears fall, and once he started he couldn’t stop.

Dino stood there in the doorway, illuminated by the moonlight. He looked menacing, he looked huge, he looked terrifying. Ash felt like he was going to choke on his heartbeat. He stepped back, the door slid shut, and something clicked.

He was locked in.

It hit him that he’s locked in as he heard Dino’s footsteps walking away. He stumbled forward, banged on the door and yelled for the man to open it. He had no idea what was in the shed, had no idea how long Dino was going to trap him in there for and it frightened him. There wasn’t even a window to let in what little light there was outside. Not even a little sliver of moonlight at the bottom of the door. He was entirely shut in. His hands scrambled for the door handle only to find that there was nothing there. Not even a keyhole he could’ve pick. He was trapped.

Ash’s knees finally gave out and he collapsed against the door, the cold seeping into his body. He let out his sobs. Tears and snot rolled down his face. He was shaking, he realized. It was too dark for his eyes to adjust to the room. He was too scared to get up and feel around, didn’t want to stumble and fall onto a rusty pickaxe or saw or anything of that sort. He moved away from the door, sat in the middle of the shed and hugged his knees to his chest. He cried until he fell asleep on the ground, the thrum of pain in his body and emotional exhaustion took him into a deep sleep.

Days later Ash would write three pages in his journal about the experience, his penmanship shaky. He’d omit the parts where he woke up suddenly in the middle of the night when the door clicked open, where he could feel Dino’s fat body breathing heavily on top of him, ripping his jeans off his legs. He wouldn’t write about the man’s breath in his face, where he couldn’t walk the entire day after, or the blood that stained his underwear again and again and again.

A blue checkmark would mark the page when he’d get it back that following Monday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if it wasn't obvious, the events between his short story aren't in a linear chronological timeline but they all happen after chapter 2.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys I'm back with another update. we're finally getting into the last stretch of things. I'm so excited to see everyone's reaction to this one. when i first started writing i did not expect people to like this story as much as they did so thank you to everyone who commented and showed their appreciation! i read through them all and think about them so it's greatly loved heh
> 
> i hope you guys like this new chapter! comment below if u do xoxo :-)

 

 

 

little fawn, it’s you.

 

-

_  
He remembers when he first picked up Ash’s short story. It was titled ‘Carnage’ and it piqued his interest. Here was a student who was average in every way, yet something about his mind intrigued Sergei. There was potential there._

_“A little deer and wolf. So typical,” he thought to himself. Still, it was one of the better written stories. He remembers being in in the boy’s exact shoes at that age. On the cusp of adulthood with nothing holding him back, only his love for English literature and writing powering through him. For a teenage boy to write what was essentially a Bambi spinoff, and a decently written one at that, was enough to push him into the ‘A’ range._

_At that moment he had looked up at his monitor. On his screen sat an opened email that he forgot about. The city library’s annual summer writing awards were opening soon. Sergei glanced back at Ash’s story. “Eh, what the hell,” he said to himself. Maybe if Ash won, it would be that push that gets him into writing as a career and to open up more in class.  
_

-

 

It was laughable, almost, how the entire situation unfolded for Sergei and Mr. Golzine.

Sergei was stupid. Actually, he was a very intelligent man. His Master’s in English Education was enough proof. But that brain only got him so far. When it mattered, he could be very, very dense.

It was 9 at night.

His headache pounded behind his eyelids. He’d been up since 7, and despite being on winter break, the pile of assignments to grade beckoned him each day. He had spent the first week relaxing and drinking wine near his small fireplace and watching ABC reruns, trying to forget the stress of teaching multiple apathetic students about the joys of 12th grade literature. It was successful for the first two weeks until he remembered the huge pile of ungraded work. So much for that.

That brought him to the last few days before school would resume for the new year. He had worked through nearly all the students’ works. Truth be told, despite assigning them a heavier workload than his other classes, he didn’t read through much of it. Luckily for him, most students seemed to not catch that. He would just smile and nod and return their daily journals, none of them the wiser. He’d only go back and reread entries when students would ask him too, and they were entertaining, sometimes.

He grabbed the last stack of work to check through. Just this last student and he’d be free for the last few days of his break. He flipped the paper, and ah-

Aslan Golzine.

What a quiet boy.

In all honesty, he wasn't anything remarkable. In each class Sergei taught, there would always be at least one or two students who stuck out, students he would remember for his entire life. Ash - as he asked to be called - wasn’t one of them. He was average, like the rest, and so his essay was also graded quickly. He was a smart boy, and Sergei circled the 100 he marked at the top.

He grabbed Ash’s notebook, flipping to the latest entries. Immediately he let out a groan. The entire entry took up one page. Sergei sighed before uncapping his blue pen. This boy was one of the very few who actually took these journals seriously. Or maybe he was just writing a bunch of nonsense. Who knows. _‘Who cares?’_ thought Sergei, rubbing his tired throbbing eyes.

Check, check, check.

The last entry seemed to take even more space. He marked it at the top and put down his pen. He held his head in his hands and closed his eyes for a few long, long moments. He was finally done. He let out a deep, tired sigh. Sergei could almost hear his bed begging him to come. He opened his eyes, chin resting in his open palms. He felt like his eyes were glazed over, body beginning to grow lazy now that he knew he was about to sleep. He glanced at Ash’s journal and closed it, moving to get up. As he stood out of his chair he paused, hand still on the closed notebook. Did he just see…?

He opened the notebook again, and yes. Yes he did see that. Near the middle of the page the words were smeared in little circles. Now that was a little surprising. Deciding he had nothing better to do, Sergei grabbed the notebook and decided to read the entry while he brushed his teeth, curious as to why tears were spilled over this. _What would lead a teenage boy to cry over a notebook he knew his teacher would see?_ he wonders.

Ten minutes later Sergei holds the notebook with a white iron grip, foamy toothpaste and spit slowly dripping down his chin.

He quickly wipes away and rinses out the toothpaste, rushing to his living room once more, all ideas of sleep gone out of his head. He flips to the previous entry, horror growing as he reads it.

Again, he goes back another entry, mind racing as he reads through it. Sergei closes the notebook suddenly, setting it down on his lap. He took a big breath of air. His hands shook as he stared down into the cardboard back of the notebook. It was so plain, so average. It was like every other notebook he had seen, nothing remarkable. But the contents inside made his dinner stir in his stomach. He opened the notebook again with shaking hands but decided, hell - he wasn’t going to sleep anyway now - to read the entire thing.

 

\---

 

The phone rings, rings, rings, before it goes to voicemail. One minute goes by before it rings again.

“H-hello? Sergei? Its...4 in the morning...what-?”

“Max. I...I really really fucked up.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .......and scene


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ash: i need help im being abused
> 
> blanca: Hey! Im so glad you reached out. I’m actually at capacity / helping someone who’s in crisis / dealing with some personal stuff right now, and I don’t think I can hold appropriate space for you. Could we connect at a later date?

He couldn't find his notebook that morning. He could have sworn he left it on his desk last night, which he knew he shouldn't have. Dino probably stole it in the middle of the night while he was sleeping. Frantically, Ash searched through every cabinet and closet he could find. He's near the bathroom when he sees Dino's door open out of the corner of his eye.

He's only been in that room twice. The door is almost always locked.

Taking a deep breath, Ash steps into the room. For a while he just stands near the doorway, ready to bolt in case he hears the front door downstairs open. He knows it's not likely since Dino's away on a business trip and the servants don't come until noon. The fear persists, still.

The entire room has a slight mess which throws Ash for a loop. He's never seen anything of Dino's this messy, usually he has someone clean everything immediately. He shakes his head and steps further into the room, knowing he'll never have an opportunity like this again. The smell of Dino's cologne permeates the room and Ash hates every minute he's in there longer.

He doesn't want to mess anything up and give away the fact that he was in here. He looks through Dino's drawers, pushing aside pens and condoms and whatever else he has in there to see if he can find his notebook. Seeing nothing, he shuts it with a huff of breath. He spots one of the drawers in the TV cabinet slightly ajar. Curious, he opens it. There's nothing inside but unnamed DVDs.

Huh. He never took Dino for the movie-type.

Out of stupid curiosity he picks out a DVD and puts it into the player, waiting for it to load. He's barely picking up the remote before he drops it. His face instantly flushes in humiliation as his anxiety hits him full force, leaving him breathless. It's a video of him. He doesn't even...when did Dino make videos of him? He remembers his hair being that short years and years ago. He watches Dino slap and choke him on screen and he shakes violently. Quickly taking the DVD out and putting it back in it's place with the others. He barely makes it out of Dino's room before nausea hits him. Next thing he knows he's in the hallway's bathroom and spewing out his guts into the toilet. Whatever small amount of food he was able to keep down comes out, leaving him dry heaving. He can barely grip the edge from how much his hands shake.

When he's done vomitting he realizes his face is wet. He's crying, hard. He leans back against the bathroom wall and sobs. His throat feels scratchy and painful and he feels snot and tears mix and slide down his face. Everything feels...he can't even place words to how he feels. It's as if he's heartbroken, but that would mean there was something left to break. He knows he shouldn't be surprised, but he is.

Suddenly he's angry. Rage fills him and makes him get up, washing the puke out of his mouth and nose and flushing the toilet before stomping into Dino's room. He nearly rips open the drawer, ready to smash all the DVDs before he freezes.

Dino would know.

Dino notices everything. Every single little thing that goes on in that man's life, there's a record of it somewhere. It was rare enough of him to have his door unlocked, Ash knows it wouldn't happen again.

He doesn’t sleep that night. In fact, he cries in his room. How is he meant to go on knowing that those tapes exist, knowing that while he’s at school Dino is most likely jerking off to them at home.

He never even remembered being recorded.

 

 

Those same tapes now sit in a box on top of special agent Anthony Jenkins’ desk in his home office.

 

 

 

///

 

TWO WEEKS AGO

 

///

 

 

 

 

Detective Charlie Dickinson has worked hard for the past 13 years with one goal ruling his life - ending child exploitation. He’s seen things that no regular human can stand. It’s what motivates him in the morning and what gets him up to start his day. He never intended to work under the FBI, yet here he is excelling at his job.

It’s a Wednesday morning. He’s just stepped out of his car when he sees Jenkins walk past him. “Morning, Lieutenant! What a great morning today, huh?” They walk into the building together, Jenkins already gripping a file he must have been reading in his cab.

“Yeah, well it’s not going to be nice for much longer,” Jenkins huffs angrily. “I just got this faxed over to me this morning - abuse case in Oakwood High.”

“The one from last night?”

“Yeeeep. Sounds bad enough that it got sent straight here. I read it over in the cab on the way over,” Jenkins pauses to take a sip of his coffee. “Anyway, don’t be late for the briefing. It’s at one.”

“One? Why so late?”

“Rollins’s on this one. His plane got delayed. He was on the east coast for a case.”

“Oh.”

“Yep. Don’t be late, Charlie” with that, Jenkins walks into the building.

 

 

//

 

 

In the briefing room, Anthony Jenkins stands in front of his men. Charlie’s off to the side of him, white dress sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Jenkins waits for everyone to settle.

“Alright, let's get this started. Two days ago we received an alert from the 23rd precinct about a possible child abuse case. This morning we were faxed the complete police report,” he paused. “Sergei Varishkov, 32, an english teacher at Oakwood High School, reported that one of his students has explicitily detailed in a notebook what he believes is a case of physical and sexual abuse committed against him by his father.”

“How long has this kid been detailing the abuse? And how’d Varishkov get the notebook?” asks detective Angelo Rollins in the front. He’s sharp, one of the best agents they have here.

“Supposedly,” says Jenkins, “it was an assignment given to the students at the beginning of the year. It’s like a diary - they write about their day. Varishkov gets them every week, reads them, grades them, hands them back on Monday.” He gestures as he speaks.

“...Except he didn't read them,” supplies Rollins, catching on.

“Yep. You know how it is with these schools. Varishkov claims many students dismissed the assignment or made shit up. Callenreese’s a clever kid, apparently. Says he has a lot of ‘fictive potential’ and wants to go into writing,” Jenkins air quotes around the words _fictive potential_ , showing everyone what he thinks about Varishkov’s defense. “Plus, Varishkov read the entire notebook while half-drunk.”

“Oh Jesus,” utters a police officer in the back, hands rubbing his temple.

Charlie clicks his tongue. “Damn.”

Monica Lagos, their assistant district attorney rolls her eyes. “So the evidence could all be circumstantial.”

Jenkins lets out a sigh that shows how tired he is, already. “We’re heading to Varishkov’s apartment for more details. The report didn’t say much, since the 23rd knew it was out of their jurisdiction anyway.”

“Man those guys are fucking lazy.”

“You know it. Dickinson, Rollins, you’re with me.”

 

 

//

 

 

Normally at this time, Sergei would be dressed in nothing but his fluffy robe with a cup of fruit in his lap, flipping through the end of the third season of Grey’s Anatomy. Max Lobo would be at his home with his wife and kid. Today is not a normal day.

Both men sit in Sergei's living room fully dressed. Agents Charlie Dickinson, Angelo Rollins, and Anthony Jenkins are sitting on the couch opposite.

Rollins leans forward in his seat. “Tell us about Aslan.”

“He goes by Ash, mostly,” starts Sergei slowly, looking down at his clasped hands. “He’s a quiet kid, to be honest. Never makes a scene, never acts out…doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t really stick out at all, if I’m honest. He’s- Fuck. Sorry for my language. I had no idea, he’s just so _normal_ -”

“Sometimes,” Rollins starts, “victims can slip from right under you if you never knew the signs. Especially if they’re minors.”

Charlie’s really glad Angelo’s working a case with them again. The man has a firm way with words. “Mr. Varishkov, if you could tell us more about the diary?”

Sergei rubs a hand over his eyes. The day after he called Max had been one of the worst in his teaching career. Max had come over at 9 a.m. sharp, demanding to see the notebook. Sergei, who was slightly hungover and extremely sleep-deprived, had almost thought the entire notebook was a fever dream that his drunken state of mind had created. Max had sat on the same couch he was sitting on now, tearing through the notebook page by page and consuming every word until he abruptly put it down. Eight minutes after one of the most guilt-inducing speeches he got from his boss, they called the police and filed a report.

“It’s a journal, actually. The students, they’re supposed to write about their day every day for the whole year. I’m supposed to read them, but you know, I have, there’s almost 200 seniors, and I...It’s just, Ash is so creative, and-”

Jenkins nods, looking down at his notes before looking up at Sergei. “Sir, I understand you might be feeling guilt over this situation, but I can assure you no one here is going to arrest you. We’re just collecting more information so we can get to the bottom of the abuse and help the victim in this case. In order to do that, we need clear answers.”

Charlie tries not to stare at Jenkins. The older man is straight to the point, kind in a way that’s unforgiving. He wonders if Sergei knows that there’s a possibility of his arrest under neglect. It’s small, but it’s there. He’s pretty confident Monica said there’s no way he’d be prosecuted, but the man should be careful with his words or he could get fined.

Sergei nods, clearing his throat. “The journals are meant to get the students used to writing. Each day they write a paragraph of their day. My whole goal was to encourage deeper thought about...their day, their lives, the way they think. All I required was five sentences, they can go beyond. But, you know, I quickly found out after the second week that most kids didn’t take it seriously. And with, you know, 200 students...I just didn’t have the time to sit every week and read five entries of mostly repetitive garbage from 200 kids,” Sergei shrugs helplessly. “Much less when a few students, like Ash, decided to take the project and use it to write pages worth of entries for one day.”

“You said in your report that after you read it, you believed there might be a possibility it was all made up. Why say that?” Angelo offers up in his smooth baritone voice.

“Ash is…although he doesn’t seem like it, when you read the work he submits, I see a lot of creativity and imagination. I don’t see why it _couldn’t_ just be...an over exaggeration of something or just creative fiction.”

Dickinson’s worked with Angelo a few times to be able to tell when the man is holding back on a remark. Angelo looks at Max then. “What about you?”

“I don’t think Ash made it up. You can’t fake emotions like that,” Max says pointedly.

“What about the father,” Jenkins flips through his small carry-on notebook, “Dino Golzine?”

“Another reason I don’t think the kid made it up. He’s Ash’s foster father. I’ve only met him once and it left a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Anything else you can tell us about Dino?”

“Not much besides that. I’d have to get you a copy of Ash’s file from the district going back to his time in middle school here. You could probably ask some of his friends who know him better in the meantime.”

“Whom may we ask?”

“Alex Flores. Kevin Wong, but he goes by Shorter. Anthony Wyelin. Maybe Terrence Hammons too,” Max provides. “They’re the only ones I’ve ever seen Ash really hang around with at school. I can pull up their addresses and fax over their files after this.”

“What kind of students are they?” asked Charlie. Jenkins understood the deeper question he was asking. Were they really friends or just acquaintances? Were they instigators? Were they smart? Were they the type to gossip? Did they hate snitches?

“Good kids, for the most part. Shorter’s a bit of a troublemaker but nothing bad, really. They’re nice kids.”

 

 

//

 

 

Maria was a kind woman and a hard worker, but her English was terrible. She’s glad she lived in an area of New York where she could get by with minimal skills due to all the latino shops around her house, but it still made her feel a little embarrassed. What frightened her, however, were the strange men she saw park outside the street of her home. Her five children were all inside.

“Alejandro! ¡Alejandro ven aquí ahora!” she called for her eldest. _Come here now!_ The men in suits got out of their car and walked toward her front door. She went to lock it. “Oh my god,” she whispered under her breath before hurrying to the stairs leading to the basement. “ _¡ALEJANDRO!_ COME HERE NOW!”

“Ay mama, I’m coming I’m coming!” She could hear her boy frantically move around downstairs before opening the door and climbing the stairs in a hurry. “What’s wrong?” he asked, worry in his tone.

“ _It’s the police._ ” She said, grabbing his hand.

“¿QUÉ?” He said, startled. He rushed to the front door just as the man knocked. He saw that their curtains were drawn, their privacy window film blocking outsiders from seeing them. Alex looked through the peephole and saw two men in black suits standing there, a redhead and a black guy. He didn’t dare open the door, afraid of what they wanted.

“ _What did you **do** yesterday?_” Maria asked her son.

“Me? Mama I didn’t _do_ anything I swear. I don’t know why they’re here. Go get the papers just in case-” His sentence was cut off with a knock on the door.

“Hello?” The man said at the door. He shook his head and said something to the guy next to him.

The agents knew they were home. Both their cars were in their driveway. He wished he had grabbed his phone on the way up to text Shorter. _Swear to God if they’re here because Kev did something stupid_ …Legally Alex knew the men couldn’t do anything without him opening the door. He wanted to know who they were and which agency they were from more than anything in case they came back when he wasn’t home.

The man knocked again and tried to look through the window.

“What do you want?” Alex said from behind the door. The redhead raised his eyebrow before pulling out a card holder and flipping it to the peephole.

 

 

**DEPARTMENT OF INVESTIGATION**   
**FBI**   
**Special Agent Charles Dickinson**

 

 

“FBI,” Agent Dickinson said. “We’re not here to arrest anyone, we just want to ask Alex Flores some questions.”

“What’s this about?” Alex asked through the door. His mom smacked his arm, worry etched deep into her face. The only thing Maria could make out was ‘FBI’ and her son’s name.

“It’s confidential information, we’d rather discuss it inside.”

“Yeah I’m not letting ya’ll in here until I know what you want.” He could tell the agent was getting annoyed but he hid it well. The black man raised his hand in a ‘calm down’ manner to the redhead before speaking up.

“It’s about an investigation going underway surrounding a classmate of yours, Aslan Callenreese. We had word that you might know something that could assist us in the case.”

Alex could feel the tension in his shoulders ease off but double on at the same time. Could it be…? Was Ash’s shitty dad finally getting caught? “Is this about his dad?”

The agents looked at each other before the one talking to him nodded. “Mr. Flores if you know anything we could really use your help,” he said. His voice was calming, almost pleading.

The door opened, Alex’s tall figure in front of his mother’s short, round stature. “Come in,” he said.

The agents introduced themselves and Alex led them to their living room and went into the kitchen to talk to Maria real quick.

“Alejandro who are they? What do they want? Are they going to arrest you?”

“No, no mama they’re not. They’re not here for anyone, okay? They have an investigation-”

“Oh my god, Alejandro!”

“Mama let me talk!” Alex whispers harshly at her. He doesn’t want to snap at his mother but she gets understandably anxious when it comes to the cops and it’s hard to calm her down. “The investigation is for my friend from school. They think his dad is abusing him, okay? We’re not going to be in trouble.”

“Oh. Is it that white boy?” When her son nods, she takes a deep breath. “Okay then. Go out and talk to them.”

Alex goes back out in the living room and sits across from the agents, tense and filled with nerves. “So...what did you guys want to know?” He feels slightly silly, talking to FBI agents in his home while he’s still in his pajamas. Their serious attitude does little to calm his nerves.

“First, you mentioned Aslan’s father, Dino. What do you know about him?” The redhead opens his carry on notebook and clicks his pen, looking up to Alex. He feels for the kid, he does.

“Uh,” Alex hesitates. He cards his hand through his hair. “I mean I don’t know where to start. What are you guys looking for?”

“We believe your friend’s being abused by his father,” the other of the two says. “But we have little evidence, and what we do have is circumstantial.”

Alex scoffs. “He’s being abused all right. Why don’t you just go to his house? I bet there’s lots of evidence there.”

“In order to do that we’d need a signed warrant from a judge. And in order to get a signed warrant, we need more than just a hunch. Besides, we think the abuse might be well hidden, so to go this early might make it harder to prove if we build a solid case later on.” Agent Rollins tells Alex while maintaining eye contact. He can tell the boy is mature, serious enough for these kinds of conversations. Most teenagers surprisingly are. “A lot of what we have right now is circumstantial for the case we have right now. We need definitive proof or your friend could be put in a worse situation.”

Maria decides to make an entrance again when she comes into the living room and puts a tray on the coffee table. Three cups of ice water and some assorted nuts in a bowl are on it. The agents smile up at her and say ‘gracias’ in a heavy American accent, which makes Alex wince but makes his mother smile as she goes back into the kitchen.

“He comes to school with bruises sometimes. He hides them well, I guess. He was fine for a little bit, but I don’t know,” Alex sighs and scratches his head. “I mean I’ve known Ash since 6th grade we all kind of figured it was abuse, but he always denied it.”

He sees the redhead scribble more into his notebook. “Has he been different this year? Do you know anything about his father at all?”

“He’s some rich dude. Ash doesn’t really talk about him. I don’t know what his job is or anything like that.”

“You said the abuse has been going on since 6th grade?”

Alex nods. “That’s when Ash moved into the district. I think he got adopted around that time, too. I know that he used to go from home to home and all that.” He pauses, staring at the spot on the carpet where his little sister got playdoh stuck in. “I think...he started to abuse Ash around that time. Ash was happy at first but something had changed badly by the time we hit seventh grade. Everything just sort of clicked into place then.”

The agents stay for another twenty minutes of questioning before Alex walks them to the door. When he turns around, he sees his little siblings peeking at him from their bedroom door. Once again he sighs, anxiety perking up in his body at what Ash was dealing with. He grabs his cell and opens a new groupchat.

 

 

//

 

 

Nadia came into the kitchen while Shorter was finishing the dishes. “Shorter, remember what you told me earlier today? About Alex and the feds? Well, they’re outside our front door so I think you should let me finish here.” Shorter stared at his sister and took a deep breath before undoing the apron.

Shorter lets the men in after introductions. Alex was right, Ash’s situation somehow finally got out to the cops.

“Where do you want me to start?” He asks from his position on the couch. He’s not the type of boy to be nervous, but in front of the feds? That’s a different ballpark altogether.

The redhead - Agent Dickinson - brings out a notebook from his inside pocket. “We can start with some basics. What can you tell us about Ash’s home life?”

Shorter inhaled deeply before leaning back against the couch. “It’s shit, to be honest.”

“I appreciate the frankness but we need some details.”

Had the situation not been so dire, Shorter would’ve laughed. “Yeah, um. I don’t know, his dad hits him. His dad’s _been_ hitting him since before I knew him. Everyone can tell, he doesn’t exactly know how to hide bruises that well no matter how many times he tries. His dad was, uh, doing it to him before winter break. I’ve never seen him that down before. He didn’t even wanna eat lunch with us, he wasn’t sleeping, all kinds of shit.”

While Dickinson was scribbling in his notebook, Rollins spoke up. “I know this can be hard to go through as his friend, and honestly there’s no easy answers to any of this. You’re doing the best right now by helping us get to the bottom of this. Now…”

 

 

 

An hour later Shorter is still in the same position, but he feels as if an entire year has passed by. Nadia’s been rubbing his shoulders for the better part of a few minutes, waiting for him to respond.

“I feel like I messed up somehow, Nads.” Shorter finally says.

Nadia stopped rubbing his shoulders to comb her hands through his mohawk. “You did a good thing, Shorter. There’s no way you could’ve messed that up.”

Shorter was quiet again before he turned and looked up at her. “Ash hates being the center of attention. You heard what they were implying, with his dad and shit. He probably doesn’t even know there’s a case in the works. What if he-”

Nadia read right through his worries. “Ash isn’t going to hate you because you got involved, Shorter. He’s not stupid like that.”

“Yeah,” Shorter exhales and leans into the couch again, pulling his legs up to his side. “I guess you’re right.”

 

 

//

 

 

It’s the day after their break ended and Bones waits by the lockers before the bell for first hour rings. He leans against the vents with one hand under his shirt scratching under the band of his binder and the other scrolling through all the messages he missed from last night. Ever since Alex told them all that the Feds showed up to his door asking questions about Ash, they’ve all been on high alert. He himself had spent time telling them all he knew about...everything. The entire situation was fucked up, for sure. The worst part about it, Bones thinks, is how Ash has no idea any of this is going on.

Speaking of, Bones can see Ash walk through the front door from where he is. Ash spots Bones and smiles big and bright before making his way over to him. Bones’s heart aches.

“Hey,” Ash says.

Bones can’t stop thinking about all the things Alex told them, all the things Agent Jenkins told him. It’s too early in the day to deal with these heavy emotions, but he puts on a smile for Ash as the blonde sits next to him. “Hey man. How was break?” Bones winces right as he says it, realizing how stupid of a question it is.

Ash doesn’t notice, too preoccupied with taking off his backpack. He shrugs and brushes his hair behind his ear. Bones can’t help but follow the movement, seeing discoloration where his hair usually covers. “It was as good as any other break, I guess. What about yours? You visit your cousins?”

“Yeah, Ma’ took us down to Tennessee to see everyone. It was nice, not as cold, you know?” It feels wrong to talk about how good of a break he had to Ash, but he doesn’t know what else to do. They all agreed not to bring up the case to Ash, even though Shorter objected. He’d figure out eventually, especially since the agents said they needed solid evidence from him before they could do anything about it.

Eventually they ignore the awkward silence and just end up talking about stupid shit on the way to their lockers, laughing at it in a way that makes Bones relax. He hasn’t seen Ash in so long, hasn’t seen him smile in what feels like years even though it’s only been a few months. It feels good to see him smile. It feels good to be the reason he’s smiling.

 

 

//

 

 

Max had told Sergei that the detectives were coming just in time for the first lunch period, conveniently right after his class with Ash. Now, Sergei was not a nervous man, but he had to suppress a shudder when the boy himself sat at his seat, pencil out and staring out the window into the snowy landscape. Ever since the first night he read through Ash’s journal he’s been haunted. If the students noticed his slight eyebags and less than cheery mood, so be it. He could always blame it on Grey’s Anatomy after all.

Sergei hated how he had to have anything to do with the whole matter in general. Why couldn’t Ash write secret notes in his math equations? Burden somebody else with the guilt? Why does he have to go through and teach an entire hour's worth of class and stare back into sad green eyes and pretend he doesn’t know the truth? The detectives told him to act normal until they spoke with him so he doesn’t hide anything in advance.

The hour passes and Sergei thanks God above for the bell ringing, only to send a curse as Ash lingers behind. Sergei puts on a fake smile and hopes it reaches his eyes. “Can I help you with something, Ash?”

“I was wondering if I could have my notebook back? I’ll give it back to you, I just, um. I think I left something important in there.”

Years of schooling his reactions in front of high schoolers is the only reason Sergei doesn’t show the absolute panic on his face. “Of course, Ash. I still have it at home,” he lies. It’s sitting in the evidence box in Agent Jenkins’s office. Actually, it probably is arriving with the agent right now to the school. “I’ll try to bring it to you soon, okay?”

“How soon? Like tomorrow?”

Damn. Kid’s pushy.

Sergei smiles and nods lightly. He knows that soon Ash is going to find out the truth, anyway.

Despite the disappointment that’s clear in Ash’s face, the boy nods back and makes his way to the door. He turns and looks at his teacher again. “Just don’t forget sir, please.” With that, he walks out into the hallway and towards lunch.

Sergei lets out an exhale he didn’t even notice he was holding in. The guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders. Lying to the boy put a bad taste in his mouth, something he couldn’t wash away with water.

 

 

//

 

 

Ash held his tray of food as he walked towards his friends. As always, they were loud and obnoxious and that’s why he loved them. It was the complete opposite of the oppressive silence of his home. He’s glad his limp healed over the course of the last week because otherwise this entire day would’ve been horrendous.

He sat down and joined them in their small chaos, smiling when Bones whined about Kong chucking peas at him. Shorter was making pencil beats while Alex pretended he could spit bars. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but moments like this are why he was still around.

If the rest of the boys noticed Ash’s cheeriness, they didn’t comment on it. Alex made them swear not to bring up the feds or anything about the investigation. They were supposed to act normal, just like the agents said. They all knew Ash and knew that he’d rather pull out his own teeth than say anything is emotionally distressing him. Besides, he actually had a plate of food in front of him this time. They weren’t going to risk saying anything and having their friend skip eating again.

In the end they didn’t need to have said anything at all, because Mr. Lobo came on the speakers and announced for one _Aslan Jade Callenreese to the office, please. Aslan Jade Callenreese to the office_. Ash shut his eyes and groaned, throwing his fry onto his plate. “What now?” He grumbled, not noticing the quick looks everyone at the table gave each other. “I’ll be right back, I guess. Shor, watch my shit.”

Shorter gave Ash a salute and stole a few fries before watching him as he walked out the cafeteria and down the hall towards the office. He wasn’t the only one glancing, and Ash took notice. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched a bit more as he made his way briskly towards the office. Curse teenagers and their tendency to stare at anyone who gets called to the office.

As he walked into the office, the secretary looked up from her computer and pointed to the principal’s office. Ash sighed and made his way over there. When he walked into Mr.Lobo’s office he froze in place. Had Ash paid attention to what his classmates were saying earlier at lunch, he wouldn’t have been as surprised to see the men in suits waiting in the principal’s office. Nor would he have been as surprised to know that the sleek black police cars parked outside of the school’s glass front doors, in plain sight for everyone to see, belonged to them.

Mr. Lobo gestured for Ash to come inside and close the door behind him.

“What’s this about, sir?” Ash asked nervously, eyeing the suits.

Mr. Lobo smiled a sad smile. “Why don’t you sit down, Ash?” He pointed to the four desk chairs to the side, where two of them were occupied by the men.

Ash sat in the chair across from the redhead before Max sat in the chair next to him. “Is everything alright?” He asked, voice low has he looked up at Max.

The redhead spoke up first. “Ash,” he said as Ash looked towards him. “I’m special agent Charles Dickinson. I work with a special FBI task force. We wanted to talk about your home life.”

Ash stiffened instantly. It didn’t go unnoticed by anyone in the room. He could feel his heart beat quicker, blood rushing through his ears. “What is there to talk about?” He asked slowly.

To his horror, the other agent pulled out his journal from the briefcase at his feet. Ash stared at it with his mouth open. It didn’t make sense...Mr.Varishkov said it was at his house, not in the hands of the fucking FBI. They all looked at him, worry and sadness in their eyes. Ash felt his skin crawl as his head spun.

“There’s a lot to talk about, Ash.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it!!!!!! 🤪 I know it took forever to update but life, you know...lol...plllllllz let me know if u like it!!! there's one chapter left woohoo oh boy!!! 
> 
> Some notes:  
> -i hope the timeline isn't too confusing to keep up with. this entire chapter happens over the course of one week  
> -in real life i don't know if this is really how such a case would happen. everything really depends on which state you live in but generally abuse cases are handled through CPS unless it's severe like sexual or really bad physical, then it's sent straight to the authorities. because it's sexual i would imagine that it would go right to actual detectives maybe even fbi. (this is where i started to make shit up) apparently these cases are actually handled pretty quickly, like cps will come to your house the day of or the following day of a report.  
> -questioning all the boys takes place within the same day they interviewed blanca and max. rollins and dickinson handle alex and shorter, and jenkins handles bones and kong (anthony wyelin and terrence hammons) behind the scenes. they don't outright tell the boys they suspect its sexual abuse because monica (district attorney) told them it's case sensitive and only on a need to know basis. all of ash's friends know he's being abused but not that it's sexual, they know his dad is rich and if nothing was done about it so far, it's probably for a reason. also they dont want ash to hate them if they go behind his back and do something. being a teenager is hard;;  
> -Angelo Rollins is an OC. he, dickinson, and jenkins are all fbi because i watched too much law & order  
> -bones is trans because i like bones  
> -the beginning of the chapter when ash can't find his notebook, it ends up being in his backpack, just in a different pocket than he usually puts it  
> -also in case it wasn't obvious in the last scene, students saw the police cars and men in suits come into the office. ash, kid who is never in trouble, gets coincidentally called there. rumor mill spreads.


End file.
